Footfalls Through the Snow
by junior-4323
Summary: They may have grieved in different ways, but nothing could take away the fact that she was gone and somehow they had to move on. Together. (Ressler/Samar friendship post 3.18)
**Just a little one shot I wrote after watching the last episode. I loved the scene at the end where Ressler told Samar the news and he gave her a hug :-(. I think that if they tried they could become really good partners maybe even because of their history. Anyway, here is a Ressler/Samar friendship fic post-funeral. I have my theories about Liz's death, but this is taking place about a week after her death and both Samar and Ressler truly believe that she is gone. Enjoy!**

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 _"I know now that we never get over great losses; we absorb them, and they carve us into different, often kinder, creatures. ...We tell the story to get them back, to capture the traces of footfalls through the snow." ― Gail Caldwell_

 **...**

He told himself that he was just resting his feet by sitting on the cool, grey pavement of the Post Office floor. In reality, Red had just prepped them for a new Blacklister and he didn't want anyone to come in and bother him if they saw him at his desk. He was tired of trying to keep everything inside, but from the moment she was dead he had felt surrounded. It was easier to help others grieve than to grieve on his own. His cheeks were stained with tears and though his chest was in pain, he felt like he could finally start breathing. He never did that for Audrey. Yes, he cried a little when she died in his arms, but instead of grieving he took the pills. It was easier to feel nothing at all just a shy year ago, but he couldn't let that happen this time. He needed to let it out.

Ressler cursed himself when he heard his office door creak open in the middle of his impromptu therapy session. It was Samar. She was still dressed in all black from the funeral earlier that day. "And I thought you left without saying goodbye," she said with a half-hearted smile. Ressler wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his black sportcoat and stared at his feet instead of Samar. "Do you need to talk to someone? I know Aram did a session with Dr. Friedman and he felt a lot-"

"I don't need to talk to anyone," Ressler said sternly. He wanted to get up, somehow prove to Samar that he was fine on his own, but his legs were glued to the ground. Samar took a heavy breath and sat down next to him against the wall of his office. He still wouldn't look at her.

"Ressler, you won't be able to move on if you don't grieve properly," Samar said.

Suddenly Ressler legs became mobile and he shot up like a bolt of lighting.

"Properly grieve? You're telling me that there's a proper way to grieve?" Ressler's face grew red in anger as he paced his office. Luckily the war room was dark as it seemed everyone else had gone home. _Jesus, how long had he been sitting there?_ "I'm sorry Samar, but after losing my dad, my pregnant girlfriend, and now Liz...I tried different things each time, not all of them would be considered "proper," but none of them brought them back either. We can grieve, we can move on, but at the end of the day Liz is gone and there's nothing we can do about it."

Tears were streaming down Ressler's face and his hands were shaking. He grabbed his desk chair for support as he tried to maintain his balance. Without speaking, Samar got up and grabbed Ressler's hand, pulling him back down to where they were sitting moments earlier.

"I'm sorry," Samar said with tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Surprisingly, Ressler let Samar gently rub his back as he sobbed. They sat there for what felt like hours as Ressler's sobs turned into sniffles and then complete silence.

"I'm sorry too," Ressler said.

"Sorry for what?" Samar responded. Ressler let out a laugh, his red-rimmed eyes leaving Samar's confused stare.

"I mean, we haven't exactly gotten along recently and because of that I haven't exactly been the best partner."

"Neither have I," she said. Ressler looked back into Samar's eyes and took a deep breath.

"She and I didn't exactly get off on the right foot either actually," Ressler said. "Cooper forced us to be partners and I did my best to act professionally."

Samar shook her head in amusement. "But slowly but surely we became friends, confidants even."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Eventually, when we disagreed about something, we would talk it out instead of bringing everything we confided in each other to the Bureau," Ressler said with a nostalgic smile. "More often than not things worked themselves because we trusted each other. We were good together."

Ressler lost his composure for a moment and Samar patted his shoulder. "I don't want to speak for the dead, but I know that Liz wasn't really my partner until we were on the same page and I don't think she would find what we have going here very healthy." They both laughed for a moment as Samar rolled her eyes at Ressler.

"I want to be on the same page," Ressler said. "I know you're not Liz and I know we have our differences, but if we go on like this one of us is going to get the other hurt."

Samar nodded and rested her head on Ressler's shoulder. They sat like that for a while until Samar broke the silence. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"I know that you keep your cards close to your chest, but you were there for everyone else when we were wearing our hearts on our sleeves," she said. "Just promise me that you'll take care of yourself, however you choose to grieve."

Ressler looked at her seriously. "I will," he said. Samar nodded than stood up and started rummaging through his desk. "What are you doing?"

"Looking for alcohol."

"I wouldn't say that's healthy," Ressler said.

"Shut up," she said resulting in a laugh from Ressler. "It's just for tonight."

"Bottom left drawer," he said helpfully.

Samar pulled out a bottle of scotch and two glasses. She poured them and then sat back down next to Ressler. "To a fresh start," Samar said once they both had glasses in their hands.

"To a fresh start," Ressler said. "And to Liz."

"To Liz."


End file.
